


Too good to be true

by junebugtwin



Category: RWBY
Genre: Adam Taurus Being an Asshole, Angst, Blake's in love!, Bumblebee - Freeform, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Previous Abusive Relationship, Takes place during season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:33:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22344892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junebugtwin/pseuds/junebugtwin
Summary: She doesn’t notice at first, because even though it should be, it’s not familiar. The feeling in her chest is light, airy like a soft summer breeze drifting through the open window, warm like her eyes closed, the insides red against the pleasant glow of the sun.She initially thinks it’s because she’s safe, that maybe all experiences taste differently without blood. It’s been a long time since Blake’s done anything without repercussions, and maybe this is what it’s like to offer someone your hand without waiting for them to hold on too tight. Fingers clasped until she bruises.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 2
Kudos: 90





	Too good to be true

She doesn’t notice at first, because even though it should be, it’s not familiar. The feeling in her chest is light, airy like a soft summer breeze drifting through the open window, warm like her eyes closed, the insides red against the pleasant glow of the sun.

She initially thinks it’s because she’s safe, that maybe all experiences taste differently without blood. It’s been a long time since Blake’s done anything without repercussions, and maybe this is what it’s like to offer someone your hand without waiting for them to hold on too tight. Fingers clasped until she bruises.

So she’s satisfied, and thinks nothing of it, even as she gazes dreamily at windblown streaks of gold or beautiful eyes of shifting pomegranate. Yang’s her partner, she reasons, of course she admires her. And why not? Yang’s everything she envies and respects- calm and level headed in a crisis, passionate and wild when she feels she can be free- a kind and loving sister, a shoulder to cry on, a wink and a nod away from a cheesy comedy act.

Blake’s eyes have been trained for battle, to watch the dark leaves surrounding her, waiting for the moment the enemy finally decides to attack- but there is no enemy, and there is no attack, so instead she watches Yang. Observes her genuinely, when she’s sure her partner isn’t waiting for anyone to, the way she moves, and talks, and laughs- eyes crinkled up, nose wrinkled, dimples appearing at the side of tan freckled cheeks, it’s a sound like coming home, or as close as Blake’s ever going to get. The way her hands trace over words in her textbooks, not because she needs them to read, but because she never bothered to unlearn the habit, the way she plops her head down on her sister’s shoulder without ceremony or comment, quietly observing whatever it is her Ruby’s so engaged with, the way she hops down from her bed every morning, grouchy and muted, but legs touching down firmly, confident in her movements and her body.

Every detail is like fireworks in her chest, like a galaxy being created from scratch, its only one thing, but its everything too- every component as dazzling as the whole, every moment as disarming as the first. Blake can hear the encompassing sounds of beacon, can track movement through walls and over shouts and footsteps, she is distinctly aware of her surroundings. Until she isn’t- until she couldn’t hear a bomb going off beside her if Yang’s heart was beating still, her brain shifting non-essential voices and sounds to the back of her skull, efficiently muted as someone else takes complete priority.

And this is when she starts to suspect, eyes re-reading the same four words in her book over and over again, without even realizing that she’s completely focused on something else. Someone else.

And she should be accustomed to it, she’s dealt with black-hole people before, those that demand every scrap of your attention and suck away all distractions. She remembers pretending not to trace the path of worn black boots, pretending not to twitch at hand movements and facial expressions, pretending she’s not on the edge of a knife, with darkness on either side and bare toes bleeding from the cuts- knowing she’s going to bleed out before she falls, and not wanting to fall anyway. There was someone else at the center of her atmosphere once, and she never forgot the feeling, trapped like an ant below someone else’s feet.

This is not like that, and it scares her even more. Because to some extent, this is reciprocated. Not necessarily the romantic feelings, but _feelings_. Yang Xiao Long cares about her and she’s not quite sure what to do with that. Because Yang notices the little things about her, laughs as she comments- _you always do that_ \- and keeps walking, like she hasn’t said anything special, like she hasn’t shook the earth beneath Blake’s feet. Because Blake is a creature of habit and idiosyncrasies and tiny small details, moments and acts innumerable and small, filled with a history and meaning that is too long for her age but appropriate to her life. She doesn’t talk about herself, never explains her history or demonstrates her past, but these little minutiae do it for her, they speak volumes where she holds her tongue. And it’s never been a problem before now because no one has ever bothered to look- and suddenly someone’s looking.

And they actually like what they see. That is maybe the most surprising part- that Yang snorts at the jokes she speaks under her breath, that she fills her tea with just the right amount of sugar without ever being told, that she always asks before she touches her, hands gentle and eyes patient. She is not invisible to someone and it scares her shitless.

It scares her, almost as much as it makes her crazy with some big bright happy feeling. This is not a path she’s taken- _love_ \- romantically at least, and she’s been tricked into alleyways and dark roads before, by empty promises and full threats- but this might be it. The real thing.

And she’s confused by it; it bewilders her, the amount of feelings that she’s repressed which suddenly spring to the surface. She’s anxious about somehow corrupting Yang, terrified of losing her, of telling her the truth and having to watch cool lilac turn red with hate. She’s overjoyed at her presence, calmed by her words, ecstatic at the prospect that her partner may also think highly of her, dazed by feelings of intense affection that have been foreign to her since the age of twelve.

She thinks, _what if things go wrong_ , and expects that to be the end of it- the promise of another tragedy able to suppress her intent, but then out of the blue it comes to her- _what if things go right?_ Such a simple thought for anyone else, but for her it is new and shocking, for her to think it with any seriousness- devoid or irony or sarcasm, or some internal joke.

Things do not work out for her- everything she’s every tried desperately to do, everything she’s ever hoped for, clawed at with ruined fingers- fails. Like some unwritten rule of the universe.

But nothings failed yet. Nothings gone terribly wrong- the rug has not been pulled out from under her. She wakes up every morning expecting this all to be some fevered dream, and so far it hasn’t been. She’d say it’s a bigger trap, a long con of epic proportions, but it’s been an awfully big while since this world has waited this long to break her- usually too excited to wait. She doesn’t think it’s capable of it.

So she holds her breath and hopes she’ll grow gills, stares into the sun and prays she won’t go blind. An exercise in futility maybe, or maybe that’s just what real love feels like.

Like it’s too good to be true.


End file.
